Uncontrollable
by jennalouisecoleman
Summary: There's a side of Clara Oswald nobody has ever seen... And it's starting to break out. What can she do that isn't impossible? Who can control a control freak?
1. Alone

Clara Oswald was curled up alone in an impenetrable darkness. The soft rhythmic thudding of rainwater falling harshly outside and the noise of her own tears falling gently down her cheeks were the only sounds she had heard for what felt like a lifetime, as she sobbed quietly into her hands.

She hadn't had a night like this for such a long time, she had almost forgotten the way it felt. But not now. Now, the feelings were back, stronger than she had felt them for years, and they were relentless. She had been overcome by them; they had won her over again as they had so many times before.

She thought she was stronger now. She thought it was over. She had been trying so hard to fix it, to leave it behind, and it had been working. She could smile easily, and mean it - most of the time, at least. These thoughts still came to her, but rarely, and they felt sort of detached from who she was now. Everyone's past affects them, but she truly believed she could cope - she thought she had been.

Another painful surge of emotion rushed through her; her heart began to pound harder and fresh tears spilled out down her flushed face. Her sobs grew louder and more desperate, but she was alone, and there was no one there to hear her, to comfort her. This thought struck Clara and made her cry even harder, balling her fists and pounding the wall next to her. She was alone. She had always been alone. The only person whom she believed could change that was gone... And what did it matter, anyway? Even if he was here she couldn't be with him. He wasn't coming back.

She ran her tear-stained fingers lightly over her wrist, feeling the thick blood pump quickly around her body. There was no scar any more, no physical scar, on her skin. This was the part of herself she never shared, not ever, not to anyone. She barely knew herself when she was like this.

They called her a 'control freak'. She acted bossy, and confident, and strong. She didn't dare act any other way. She had to be strong, she had to be in control of herself.

If she wasn't, she ended up here. She dared not lose control of her feelings, because she knew how that felt... She knew what would happen if she did.

Her life depended on it.


	2. Broken

**Hello! **

**Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story - it means so much to me. However, I am unsure as to whether or not to continue... I don't feel that anyone is really enjoying it, and although I enjoy writing I'm not sure this story is going to be worth it! **

**Reviews would, as always, be extremely helpful - if you like this story, please, please say so!**

**Lots of love x**

Clara doesn't want to wake up.

Not now.

Not for a very long time.

The sun, however, seemed to have a different idea. Bright, intruding shafts of light forced their way into her bedroom, preventing her from sleep no matter how hard she tossed and turned to avoid them.

She'd been tossing and turning in her bed all night, and until about an hour ago she'd all but given up the hope of some rest. But she was exhausted, and simply couldn't find the energy from anywhere within her to keep her eyes open for a second longer. She was completely washed out, and uncomfortable, no matter how much she shifted around in her bed. Sleep claimed her eventually, finally managed to grip her tight and pull her slowly under. She was grateful for it, at first, but as she was drifting off, a nasty little voice in her subconscious cruelly reminded her that she wouldn't be resting, not really, because the images that would haunt her slumber would do simply that - haunt her. They always had. And after a night like the one she'd just had, she knew they would be there, and be bolder and harsher and worse than ever.

They were, of course. They always were.

She rubbed her eyes, bitterly cursing the rising sun. It was meant to be there for good reasons, helpful reasons; it was meant to brighten the day and bring warmth and love and light to the world.

But Clara was cold, and dark, and she was alone.

She knew she couldn't carry on this way. She knew it right from the start, when it was all happening; she knew that it wouldn't be something which could be overcome and forgotten. She didn't, however, expect this. Nothing had prepared her for this. All these feelings... She didn't understand. She felt broken, that's what it was. She felt irreparably broken, and she couldn't think of any way to fix herself.

Well, no way that wasn't impossible. He was gone.

Only he wasn't. He was still there. But not _him - _not the him she needed so desperately. She knew it was stupid, and selfish, and almost shallow, but she couldn't help it. She'd been holding these feelings inside for far too long, and nights like the last one reminded her just how much of a mess she'd made it all, how she really couldn't go on like this any more. But she couldn't for the life of her think of a way out, not now.

_For the life of her_... Clara thought those words over again in her head, and began to shiver uncontrollably. _No_, she thought to herself._ No, absolutely not. Stop it. Stop thinking like that. Stop it, stop it, stop it. _

She couldn't help it. She didn't mean to think of it like that, hear those words in her head in that certain way, but she did. She did, and now she couldn't quite think clearly about anything, not any more. _No more_, she thought to herself, shaking her head firmly, as if that vigorous movement would somehow banish those awful thoughts from her mind.

_No more. _


	3. one

_Her heart was beating fast in her chest as she approached the ugly brick building in front of her. Large windows were cut, in regimented rows, out of the side of each of the walls, and cheap strip lights could be seen hanging inside. She could see kids running around in the caged space next to it, shirts untucked, school shoes scuffed and dirty, as they chased a ball around, shouting and swearing jovially at each other. She looked down at her feet, trying desperately to concentrate on just taking one step after the other, praying she wouldn't encounter the person she was dreading she would, and had been now for as long as she could remember. _

_ That was a mistake, and she knew it straight away. She shouldn't of looked down. How could she have been so _stupid_? She cursed herself loudly inside her head, and quickly snapped her head up, blinking her eyes furiously, trying to suppress the tears that were threatening to blur her vision, and quickly made to tug her skirt down with her hand. She pulled hard on it, pulled it down as far as she could over her thighs, but it wouldn't budge. She couldn't hide any more of herself, and she knew exactly why. _

_ This thought was all too much for her. She stumbled into the building, and dragged herself up the staircase, oblivious in those moments as to just where she was headed. _

_ She reached out an arm and shoved blindly at the double doors at the top of the staircase. They swung open, and she ran over to the wall of lockers in the corridor in front of her, throwing her bag to the floor, and collapsed against them. She squeezed her eyes shut, and covered her face with her hands, bringing her legs up underneath her. She was gasping for air, sobbing; she felt as though she were choking, drowning, suffocating, being crushed by the weight of it all. _The weight_, a cold voice in her head snarled at her. _What a fine choice of words_._

_ A small sound from the back of the throat escaped her mouth. It was a quiet, pitiful cry, a strangled moan, a sound that would threaten to break a heart even if it were heard by someone without one. _

_ But there was no one there to hear it. And there wouldn't ever be. She knew that, she always had known it, she always would. _

_ It was just all far too _much,_ there was just so much wrong with her, so much she'd done that was unforgivable. She didn't know what she wanted any more. She wanted a future, of course she did. She wanted to travel around the world, maybe find someone who would go with her and just go out there, and go everywhere, and see wonders. But she didn't know whether she could have that future, she didn't know whether she could have any future at all. Maybe this was it. Maybe she was just born to be alone, maybe she wasn't ever going to recover from this, maybe, even if she survived it, it would haunt her for the rest of her stupid life. Maybe she was only ever going to end up alone. _

_ And that, quite frankly, terrified her. _


	4. minus zero point one

Time.

It was strange, when you thought about it.

It was ruthless, destructive, unstoppable.

It never slowed down, it never faltered.

It would just _keep going_, oblivious to anyone and anything it broke.

And it was the only thing that could heal her, now.

Didn't that just give her hope.


	5. Fatigued

Clara was exhausted.

Exhausted was the only word she could think to use. She wasn't thinking very well. Everything was slow, and slurry, and she couldn't seem to find the energy to do a thing.

She wanted to cry. She hated it, she hated that that was all she really wanted to do, she hated that that was the only thing she felt she _could_ do, but she was too tired to care. "Hatred," she whispered brokenly, desperately, burying her aching head in her shaking hands, "is too strong an emotion to waste on someone you don't like."

And if there was anyone in this universe she didn't like, Clara knew it was herself. Yet she couldn't bring herself to stop doing the one thing that could...

After everything she'd done, everything _she had done, _she hadn't stopped. She had ruined the lives of people she had loved, or at least _thought_ she'd loved, she had _ended_ their lives, and yet she still wouldn't stop.

She couldn't stop, she couldn't stop any of it.

Clara just felt so helpless. She had no control over anything any more. She had no control over what she felt, and even, it seemed, what she did. What she was doing to herself, what she had done to everyone else.

She had been told once that love wasn't something you had to deserve. That had made sense to her, at the time. Anyone could love, and be loved. There didn't need to be a reason. There didn't need to be any limits.

But now, Clara knew that was wrong. She had, unwittingly and unwillingly, proven to herself that she had been right all along. She didn't deserve anything, _anything at all_, least of all _love_.

If there was one person in this universe that had proven this, it was her.

But maybe she was wrong about something. Maybe there _was_ something she deserved. Her prize was close, and she knew it was only getting closer. She knew that she could help, of course, aid its arrival, ask it, plead with it, beg it to arrive quicker and maybe just fix her, but she was afraid. She was always afraid, even though she'd learnt how to hide it, hide it so very well. And it was coming, now, whether she wanted it there or not.

She tried very hard to feel relieved.


End file.
